A Duke's Duty (The Duke's Club Book 2)

by G. L. Snodgrass

  The Earl scowled as he stopped and examined Lord Newcastle.

  “Hardy?” he said with obvious displeasure, looking down his nose as if addressing a disgusting insect. “A bit above your station don’t you think. But then, you never did understand your place.”

  Abigail stiffened, the tension between the two men was enough to make her hold her breath. Beneath their cool demeanor, a bubbling rage threatened to overflow. It was as if two mountain rams had met on a narrow path, neither willing to back down.

  “Barty,” Newcastle said with a questioning frown. “Is that you? You’ve grown a little. Mostly sideways, I must say.”

  The Earl of Bristol gasped, his face turning even redder as he straightened, pulling in his rather large stomach. A small speck of spittle appeared at the corner of the man’s mouth. “Where is Lady Carswell?” he asked as he looked out over the crowd. “Our hostess is obviously unaware of your presence.”

  Abigail noticed that several groups of people had slowly moved closer to ensure they heard every last syllable.

  Lord Newcastle laughed slightly. “Barty, you always look for someone else to fight your battles.”

  The rancor between these two men was unbelievable. Men of the ton didn’t act this way. Normally It was more the knife in the back type of interplay all while smiling at each other. Instead, these two were like young boys on the playing field ready to come to blows right here at Lady Carswell’s ball. People would be talking about this for weeks.

  “It is Lord Bristol,” the Earl said with as much gravity as he could muster. “I shouldn’t have to remind you.”

  Abigail looked from one to the next and suddenly realized something. “My Lord,” she said to Lord Bristol. “You may not have heard. This is the new Marquis of Newcastle. The heir to the Duke of Oxford.”

  The portly Earl’s face turned white. Abigail was unable to tell if it was shock or anger. He stared at her then back at Lord Newcastle and again back at her. As if trying to determine the legitimacy of her statement. The fact that a Marquis was of higher status must have made the Earl’s insides clench with anger. The look of pure hate in the man’s eyes confirmed it.

  “That’s right, Barty,” Lord Newcastle said with a sly grin. “It seems, as I always said, the crown can give out a peerage to almost anyone.”

  The Earl stared daggers at Lord Newcastle, his jaw clenched, his hands shaking. Abigail wondered if she had ever seen a man so angry. Surely not. Grunting under his breath, the Earl turned and marched away. Storming through the crowd and directly out the door.

  Lord Newcastle chuckled as he shook his head.

  “I take it you know Lord Bristol,” she said.

  The tall man next to her smiled gently and nodded. “My first and dearest enemy. At school. I really must thank him. He taught me so much that has come in handy when facing the French.”

  “It is unwise to antagonize such a man,” Abigail said with a frown.

  “Do not worry, the man would never challenge me to a duel. I could never be so lucky.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the dueling fields,” Abigail said with a heavy sigh. “I was talking about the marriage mart. The man and his family have many friends. And an open confrontation such as that will not be helpful.”

  Lord Newcastle smiled down at her, “The first rule for my new wife, she or her family may not be a friend of him or his.”

  Abigail took a deep breath and then let it out slowly before she nodded, accepting his requirement. “You really despise the man, that I can understand. He is a bit of a toad. But why is he so angry with you?”

  The new Lord paused as he looked out into the distance. “Either a guilty conscience. Or he still harbors resentment for me defeating him at every step. The scar under his left eye. I gave him that when he and his friends caught me behind the chapel. Both he and his sycophants paid that day.”

  Her heart broke thinking of him all alone, facing the hateful world.

  He saw her expression and said, “I wasn’t always alone, Bedford, Suffolk, and Duncan were there some of the times. They helped by watching my back. But they couldn’t always be there. Good old Barty used to look for opportunities for he and his friends to find me alone. Although after a bit, he found it more and more difficult to find accomplices. It is amazing what a few broken bones will do to a boy's perspective. They quickly learn that certain associations aren’t always wise. Another factor he holds against me.”

  Abigail turned to where the Earl of Bristol had left the room. What must it be like for a man like Lord Bristol? He had repeatedly been bettered by the tall man next to her. His only solace the knowledge that he was a British Lord and this man was but a bastard.

  And now? Even that solace was lost to him. The man must be apoplectic with anger.

  A small sense of glee passed over her.

  “Where shall we start,” Lord Newcastle said as he looked at the people dancing. Obviously referring to finding him a wife. “Ah, perhaps the young lady there. The blond in the light blue …”

  “No,” Abigail said forcibly before she could stop herself. “I mean … That is Lady Rose Dupont, my cousin and she is almost betrothed to Lord Smalley.” For the first time since hearing of her cousin’s pending engagement, Abigail sent up a quick thank you. The thought of her cousin marrying Lord Newcastle would be wrong on so many levels.

  “Ah,” the Marquis said, “See, you have already saved me that most precious of things. Time.”

  Abigail swallowed hard as she tried to slow her racing heart. She must take care, she realized. The man had absolutely no idea of who would be appropriate. Rose, never. While she might be sleek and fast, to use his words. Her cousins' soul would never be described as ‘Stern.’

  “I will need some time to consider the issue, My Lord. Perhaps, next week at the Hawthorn’s ball I might point out some possibilities. You will be attending, I presume?”

  He sighed and nodded. “If I must.”

  The thought of seeing him again pleased her for some reason. She liked talking to him she realized. There was no subterfuge. No useless small talk. As she had foreseen, he was a man of action. A man who wanted to get things done and move on to the next challenge.

  “Lady Abigail,” Lord Newcastle said as he took her free hand and bent over it. A warm tingle traveled up her arm from his touch. Even through her gloves, it was as if a magical force had taken ahold of her. Her heart skipped and the world narrowed to just this man. Just this moment.

  “It has been most enjoyable,” he said. “I look forward to your assisting me in finding a wife. I feel that really I must thank my aunt Isobel.”

  Abigail felt her cheeks grow warm as he stared into her eyes. Suddenly her mouth was very dry as if she had spent the day in a dessert. Her heart raced and she was finding it difficult to breathe.

  “Until next week then,” he said, breaking the moment.

  Her heart jumped when she realized he was leaving and she began to drop into a curtsey. But to her everlasting shame, her hip chose that moment to give way. She had been standing too long and it refused to continue to support her.

  Before she could fall and make a complete fool of herself, his hand shot forward, saving her, holding her steady as he assisted her back to a normal, un-embarrassing position.

  “Please,” he said, “forgive me.”

  There it was, she thought as her heart slammed to a halt. That look of pity. That look that sealed her fate. Her world ended at that very moment. A moment she would never forget. No man could ever come to care for a woman if he pitied her.

  From the corner of her eyes, she saw several of the other women watching her, their fans in front of their lips so they could whisper to each other. She wondered if they had been upset because she had monopolized so much of the new handsome Lord’s attention. Now, to see her embarrass herself like this. They must each be sighing with relief. One less opponent on the field.

  “No, My Lord,” she was able to say as she straightened he
r back and lifted her chin. “It was my error. I do apologize.”

  He frowned for a moment, “Do you need assistance? There is a chair open next to my aunts.”

  “No … No thank you, My Lord. I will be perfectly fine, I assure you.”

  He continued to study her for a moment as if doubting her words. Then bowed again. “Until next week, My Lady.”

  She was tempted to curtsey again, but simply nodded instead.

  Smiling one last time, he turned and left to find Lady Carswell so that he might thank her before leaving. Abigail sighed heavily and watched him leave. Tall, with wide shoulders. All man she thought with deep regret.

  At least she would see him next week, she told herself.

  “Well?” Lady Isobel said as she stepped up next to her. “What do you think?”

  Abigail thought for a moment then said, “Finding him a wife will not be difficult. Finding him the right one will be almost impossible.”

  “Exactly,” Lady Isobel said, “That is why I have enlisted your assistance. If anyone can do it, you can.”

  Abigail cringed inside. How had she allowed herself to be pulled into this? The man didn’t want a wife and none of the women she knew deserved him.

  Chapter Eight

  The newly minted Lord Newcastle handed his hat and gloves to Bedford’s footman.

  “Lord Newcastle,” Mrs. Jensen, Bedford’s housekeeper, said as she approached with a broad smile. “It is so nice to see you again.”

  Jack couldn’t help but smile to himself. Leave it to Mrs. Jensen, she knew every story and rumor of the ton. Of course, she knew of his new title. It had been her that had guided the Duke of Bedford. Perhaps he should hire her for himself. Heaven knew Thompson would be no help in navigating through the dangers of the British upper society.

  No, Bedford would call him out and run a rapier through him if he tried to steal Mrs. Jensen from him. And that was only if his wife, Ann, Her Grace, the Duchess of Bedford didn’t do it first.

  “Mrs. Jensen,” he said to her. “Is the sluggard down and about yet? It is almost ten. Surely he is receiving.”

  Mrs. Jensen smiled, “His Grace should be down in a few minutes, My Lord. Would you care to wait in his study? I know he wishes to speak to you.”

  Newcastle scoffed, “He wants to lecture me about being a Lord. The ins and outs of Parliament. Which club to belong to, which fork to use.”

  Mrs. Jensen bit back a smile. She obviously enjoyed it when he gave His Grace a rough time. So few people in his world ever did. The man was a Duke after all. Like himself, Mrs. Jensen viewed it as their responsibility to stop the Duke of Bedford from becoming too full of himself.

  As he followed her to his friend’s study, he thought about Lady Abigail and the Hawthorn’s ball that very night. They were to meet and she was to start introducing him to potential brides. The thought sent a shudder down his spine, yet, he had to admit, he was looking forward to seeing Lady Abigail Dupont once more.

  Then it hit him. “Tell me, Mrs. Jensen, do you know of a Lady Dupont?”

  The woman frowned as she studied him for a moment. “My Lord. I am but a lowly housekeeper. Why would I know of Lady Dupont?”

  Newcastle laughed, “Mrs. Jensen, you have the best intelligence service in all of England, perhaps Europe. I am sure you could teach Lord Liverpool and his men a thing or two.”

  She smiled, obviously pleased with his comment.

  “Well, seeing as how you are a new Lord and a dear friend of His Grace’s.”

  He remained quiet waiting for her to continue.

  “Lady Abigail Dupont,” she began. “The only daughter of Earl of Grisham, from the Midlands.”

  “An Earl’s daughter,” Newcastle interjected, surprised. She had not seemed hidebound or … too full of herself.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Jensen said, “A rather poor Earldom…”

  “I wasn’t aware there were such things,” he said with a small laugh.

  “Her Grandfather left the family with quite a lot of debt. They have not yet found a way out.”

  He nodded for her to continue as his interest began to rise. This was all so unexpected.

  “One brother. Archibald will inherit. I believe there are several male cousins. Both her father and mother are rather aged and do not come to London much. That and the cost, of course. She is staying with an aunt, here in London.”

  “And her … disability?” he asked.

  Mrs. Jensen frowned, “Yes, such a shame. No one knows all the details. But at twelve she was injured. It has been said that the doctors never expected her to walk again.”

  Newcastle frowned. The woman must have pushed herself hard to have recovered as much as she had.

  “Well liked,” Mrs. Jensen continued. “The servants here in London, the few they have, speak highly of her. That says a lot in my opinion.”

  Newcastle’s brow furrowed in confusion. “The woman seems a little older than most of the unwed women in the ton.”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Yes. Why has she not married?” he asked.

  Mrs. Jensen studied him for a moment, her brow focusing as if she were trying to understand if he was as unintelligent as he appeared.

  “Sir, I do believe you have not yet grasped the ways of the ton.”

  He frowned as he nodded for her to continue.

  “The number one goal of almost every member is to improve the family’s status through marriage so that they might produce children to continue the family name. A family now better off socially and financially because of the improved status.

  Newcastle thought of his father and had to admit, Mrs. Jensen was obviously correct.

  “It is doubtful that Lady Dupont will ever marry, My Lord. The nature of the injury calls into question her ability to have children. When paired with her family’s poverty and lack of connections. No children, no money, why would any man of standing offer for her hand? And why would any woman accept a man of lesser standing?”

  He could only shake his head. He had always believed the Royal Navy to be a cold, hard institution. But these people made it appear as soft as a hospital charity.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jensen,” he said as he tried to understand this new information.

  “Of course, My Lord,” Mrs. Jensen said as she curtsied then turned to go. “My Lord,” she added once she had opened the door. “I have heard that you are in search of a wife and Lady Abigail has offered to help you find one.”

  It took every effort to stop his jaw from dropping open. Was there nothing this woman didn’t know?

  “I would listen to her advice, My Lord. The woman is intelligent, without an agenda of her own. It would be difficult to find another advisor with both of those qualities.”

  He smiled and nodded, “Of course, and thank you.”

  “And, as for your man Thompson,” she continued, “if you were to send him around, I could perhaps offer some guidance on things he should be prepared for. Things are not always as they appear. There are people with agendas he should be made aware of.”

  This time, his jaw did drop open. He couldn’t stop it. Then, gathering himself he grinned and shook his head. “I will send Thompson within the day. Please forgive him his ways. The man has spent so much time at sea that he forgets how to act in refined company. And again, thank you, Mrs. Jensen. And might I add, if you ever wish another position. I would be very willing to have you …”

  “Don’t you dare,” the Duke of Bedford said as he stepped into the room, shooting Mrs. Jensen a glare at merely thinking about it.

  “I will keep it in mind, My Lord,” she said to Lord Newcastle as she returned His Grace’s glare, then stepped out of the room with a secret smile.

  The Duke lifted his eyes to the ceiling, then stared at his friend with obvious anger. “Sir, there are some things a gentleman does not do. Steal another man’s wife, or hire his staff away from him. It just isn’t done.”

  Newcastle laughed. Oh , how he loved poking
at Brock, the Duke of Bedford. The man had been a Duke since the age of three and had a habit of being just slightly pompous at times.

  “Who is trying to steal me,” The Duchess of Bedford said as she followed her husband into the study, reaching up to place a sweet kiss on the Duke’s cheek. A gorgeous brunette with classic beauty and an innate grace. Lord Newcastle could only shake his head at the open display of affection. Ann refused to abide by the ton’s expectations. Not when it came to loving her husband.

  “He wants to hire away Mrs. Jensen,” the Duke said to his wife.

  “Never,” she said as she shot Lord Newcastle a mock glare of anger. “I will call you out, Sir, or worse, tell your aunts that you are being a bad Lord and that they need to provide more and closer guidance.”

  Lord Newcastle raised his hands in defeat. He well knew when he was outmatched.

  The Duke of Bedford chuckled, then said to his wife, “I am taking Jack to Parliament. Liverpool has asked me to introduce him to the stumps and lost souls known as the Members of the House of Lords.”

  The Duchess cringed and gave Lord Newcastle a sympathetic glance.

  “Suffolk will be joining us,” the Duke said to him. “He insists on watching the good Lords squirm when you are introduced.”

  Lord Newcastle smiled at the thought of the Duke of Suffolk. The man always did enjoy seeing the powerful made uncomfortable. One of the many reasons he had always admired the man.

  “Have you heard from Duncan,” Lord Newcastle asked, referring to the fourth member of the Duke’s club. Currently serving in Portugal with Wellesley.

  “Yes,” the Duke said with a deep frown. “A rather interesting letter concerning a girl. I gather that in the event of his death, I am to see to her. Some debt owed to one of his sergeants.”

  “Not his brother?“ Lord Newcastle asked, referring to the Duke of Richmond.